Cursed
by caitewarren
Summary: Every foster home, every group home, someone either dies or gets hurt. And it's not usual stuff, it's not heart attacks. It's been murder, arson, car wrecks, boat crashes. It's always something. Always, that's how I ended up in jail.Cassian is convinced she's cursed. John Winchester's missing and Dean enlists the help of Amy(John's ex-lover) to help. R


The heat had become unbearable in her small closet of an apartment. It was in the middle of September, in Maine, in the middle of record breaking heat waves. The surly weatherman was discussing in a grim voice about the effects of "global warming". _Bull shit_. She thought to herself. Ignorant people had been blaming odd weather patterns on global warming for decades, none tended to see the pattern of odd occurrences, electrical storms, cattle killed, the odd "tragic" deaths. She was once that ignorant person. A lifetime ago.

A lifetime ago she was a housewife. A notion that made her snort and let out a dry chuckle. A housewife whose days were spent idly around the house in an idyllic home while tending to the beds and to the cleaning and to the cooking, where she fooled herself into thinking she was happy. The only happiness that came out of the life was sucked violently away from her in the hands of pure evil. A demon of the name Samoan, he was dead or whatever it is that demons do. And so was the man he'd possess. She didn't know it at the time but he was a sales accountant and a father, a husband, a son and a brother. It was ironic in a way that the sales accountant shared the same titles of those that she'd lost, _her _father, _her _husband., _her _sons, and _her _brother. She went to the sales' accountant's funeral, cried silently when she watched his children and frail little wife sob. She never wanted to _hunt _ever again. But there was nothing else. No house to be cleaned, no sons to take care of, no husbands to make love to, no brothers to chide about finding their own homes, no father's bad heart health to worry about anymore. Every purpose of her life was gone. She found herself absorbed into hunting once again. It was her purpose, her drive, and that's when she met him. John Winchester, an arrogant, self-driven, obsessed bastard.

**SPN**

"Cassian Winchester?" demanded the guard.

He was a blurry whale size of a man with a bald shinny head, wide grey eyes and thin chapped lips. Today marked the eleventh month. The day she'd been dreading since the moment she'd been locked up.

"The social worker's here to take you to your next foster home."

Foster homes; the very bane of her existence. Personally she wished they were called hell. It was more fitting. Wearily she forced herself into a sitting position as Jim opened the cell slamming it to the side. Standing beside him was a petite young social worker who was quite literally shaking. By the looks of it she'd never been to a prison before. She like all other social workers had a plastered phony fake smile on her face.

"Hi Cassian," she chirped.

Cassian. It made her snort. What kind of name was _Cassian_? She was told it had been her mother's last name. Her mother couldn't have named her Cassie or Cassidy or Cassandra or something of that effect? Something normal?

"Cassie," Cassie corrected.

"Right Cassie we've got a foster family all lined up for you," the social worker even bounced a little.

Her chirpiness was annoying Cassie. There hadn't been one foster family she'd been to where someone wasn't always drunk or someone else trying to touch her in places. Jail had been a welcomed thing. Three square meals a day, a program to better their anger issues and psychiatrist who was somewhat all right.

The papers apparently that discharged her had already been signed. She was given the clothes she had been arrested in and the social worker Gracie was telling her all about the Michelson family in a very animated high pitched voice and very rapidly.

"Look Gracie you can tell me all you want about this family but there's no way in hell I'm going to be there long."

Grace for a moment stopped bouncing. Her dark eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Cassie licked her lips, "_something _always goes wrong…. I'm cursed."

Grace blinked and stared blankly at the teenager as though she hadn't understood her. Cassie didn't wait as she climbed into the designated car forcefully tugging at the seatbelt over herself.

"What do you mean Cassie?" Grace asked as she climbed into the front seat. She began to fumble around her bag for her key cars.

"Every foster home, every group home, someone either dies or gets hurt. And it's not usual stuff, it's not heart attacks. It's been murder, arson, car wrecks, boat crashes. It's _always _something. _Always_, that's how I ended up in jail."

Grace bit her lip, "you ended up in jail because-

"Because of what everyone thinks I did. Everyone thinks I set fire to that gymnasium but nobody saw me start it. Nobody found any matches on me. Believing in something is a very powerful thing."

**SPN**

The knocking on the door made Amy jump involuntarily. It wasn't as though she had visitors come knocking at nine in the morning or visitors at all. In the depression she'd sunk into after her family's death she'd cut off all ties to any friends she had. Closing literally and figuratively the front door on every one of them and then came hunting. Friends became more like acquaintances that you hold at arms length. Called for information and such, hunting together sometimes but most of the time were weary of their motives.

"Can I help you?" she questioned.

Standing at the door was a young man. Early twenties she guessed tops would be twenty-five or twenty-six. His hair was a between being dark blonde and a light brown. He was dressed in an oversized jacket and ripped jeans. His eyes were light green in color and deep bags sagged underneath them. He looked as though he hadn't slept in years.

"Are you Amy Cassian?"

Amy tightened her grip on the wooden door. She hadn't given her real name out in years. Nobody in town knew it. She was Amy Jordan here. An odd eccentric artist who worked nighttime shifts at the Grey Owl Inn, managing the desk there. It made her suspicious and suddenly wishing she remembered where she'd last left her hand gun.

"It depends whose asking?"

"My name's Dean Winchester uhm I believe you knew my father."

That's when she notices the black 1967 Chevy Impala parked in front. _His _car. She stared back at the man at the front door attempting to draw parallels to the teenaged boy she once knew and couldn't. He'd grown considerably, his face had changed.

"Are you?" he questioned drawing her back.

"Yes, I'm Amy," she answered, "what are you doing here Dean?"

Dean shuffled a bit on his feet glancing around and over her head into the apartment. He swallowed hard.

"John's missing….I was wondering if you'd seen him?"

Even hearing his name made her flinch. It'd been fourteen years since she'd last seen him. In Montpellier, Vermont, on June the fourth, nineteen ninety-one. A memory engrained painfully into her mind.

"I haven't seen him. Not for a very long time."

"Right..uh thanks," he turned and began to walk down the stoop.

Just as he was about to climb back into the Impala she called to him.

"Let me help you."

Dean turned around to face her raising one of his eyebrows, "No offense or anything, but I don't want your help lady."

"Amy," she corrected, "and I'm not just _some _lady. I knew your father quite well at one point of my life and I can help you."

"I said I don't want it," Dean answered, "look he's my father and me and my brother will go get him. I just came here to find out if you knew where he was."

"You wanted to know if he was here. To see me," Amy answered, "Dean who told you about me? Because your father sure as hell didn't,"

Dean chuckled and shook his head dismissively. He was thirteen when they first met. He was half-asleep, his father was injured and she herself was nursing a rather bad hangover. It had taken the pair of them to stitch his father up. Once stitched up she'd left.

"The two of you really thought I was that dense do you?" Dean questioned, "I wasn't Sammy, I wasn't fooled by the lies. But hey the two of you are both consenting adults so why not?"

**A/N: what do you think? Should I continue? **


End file.
